MASTER OF THE HUNT
I have learned a saying in my travels, "We are the choices that we make, for good or ill." Choices define us. Choices become us. And while it is not in my nature to regret, looking back, I realize now that the choice Bendi, Tashtego, and I made to leave Sen'jin created only hardship and sorrow.
Our plan to join the ranks of the Horde army fell apart soon after we arrived in the Valley of Trails. It was not the training that we found impossible — in fact we were successful in a number of hard-fought tasks for the war masters there — rather it was the company we were forced to keep, and our own intolerance.
First there were orcs, lots of them, and though they were bloodthirsty and furious in battle, we could not take their haughtiness. Grom Hellscream this. Horde that. Never a mention of us trolls. The Darkspear lived in a meager village while these orc outsiders had a capital city! And then they would speak to us of honor...ha! They could leave their lectures for the young rosy-eyed fools. I have always agreed with what Zul'jin said about war: It is not about honor but about conquest and survival, by any means necessary.
Worse yet we met in the Valley of Trails the so-called forsaken that Thrall had allied himself with in his hour of need. How Vol'jin, our leader, could consent to such a thing was beyond my understanding, and it only fueled the fiery feelings I had toward him already. These walking corpses were despicable things, undead minions, consorts of demons. How could we trust them when they were only one step removed from our human enemies? I will never be convinced that they will not one day visit misery on us all.
I have never taken issue with the formidable bull-men known as tauren, though I believe they are far too slow to anger. If only they would embrace their bestial nature! I came to know some of them during our time in the Valley of Trails, and I grew to admire their spiritual strength. But these tentative friendships were not enough to hold us there.
And so, a few short weeks after our arrival we again moved on, this time taking the skills we had honed and setting out for the Barrens, a band of experienced — or so we thought — troll mercenaries. We found no shortage of work in the areas around the Crossroads, where we did everything from thin out the lion prides to recover stolen silver from a band of crafty raptors. We even had the pleasure of slaying a coven of black orcs high up on Dreadmist Peak. (We gave our patrons a discount on this job.)
Our purses grew heavier, and while we were far from rich, at least our gear was good quality and we ate well. Soon our names were known in the Barrens and we began to receive requests from Ratchet, Camp Taurajo, and Honor's Stand. In the foothills of the Stonetalon Mountains we discovered the troll outpost of Malaka'jin. This quickly became a new base camp for us, from which we reached out to Sun Rock Retreat. It wasn't long until we found new customers there as well, and new dangers.
* * * * *
The full account of what happened next can be found elsewhere in the archives of the Hand of Itzul. [Author's Note: I'll be posting the full story separately because it is quite long in itself.] Below I include my first account of the incident in which I lost my two closest friends, scrawled on a piece of weathered parchment not long after the day it happened.
How could we not have seen that we were doomed? Why would an elf be seeking aid in Sun Rock, a Horde camp? And why would she wish the death of her own kind? Tashtego, damn his thick skull, did not care and had not asked.
But he cannot be blamed. It was my place to lead. Why did I not say something to stop the quest before it started? When I sought the elf for answers, she had already vanished from the village. I should have known this was wrong...in my spirit-soul I DID know! But my arrogance told me that we could not be tricked, that we could outwit any trap laid for us.
Tcha! Now Tashtego is dead and Bendi is missing. For three days I have waited for her here at the Crossroads, our agreed-upon meeting point should a job go wrong. But she has not come. With the death of our longtime friend I cannot believe that anything would keep her away. I must assume that she too is dead.
Loa curse me! It is my fault they are gone. I killed them both as surely as if I had led them through the black caves of Avaki and into the waiting jaws of Khut'we the Hungerer!
And now I have another fear. Something is chasing me, a vile underling of the demon-god we discovered in Stonetalon Peak, a wraithlike brother of the wolfhounds that I escaped in the forest. I hear ghostly howling in my sleep, and during the day I smell ruin on the wind. The humming in my ears has lessened but is still there. At times it seems to speak words. Tashtego screaming at us to flee. Bendi crying my name. The demon Hunt Master taunting me. Or is it just my imagination?
The rum helps to quiet the voices.
I do not know how long I can wait here. I feel thin, lost. I cannot return to Sen'jin, not like this, not without Bendi and Tashtego. I will not face Vol'jin and our families.
No, I must go back to Sun Rock. I will return to Stonetalon Peak. I will find the Hunt Master and his den. And if the loa decide that I should fall, it will be a shameless death. Ayya, let the gods mold my fate. I am theirs to command. Help me avenge my fallen friends or strike me down!
I will go back soon, once the voices quiet. But first there is more rum...
